While you and your comrades annihilated all in your path, we watched.
While you and your leaders desecrated sacred places, we planned.
When you left the remnants of broken nations to die, we came.
Where you sowed destruction, we brought life; where you brought strife,
we sowed unity.

We are the Forgotten, and we will bring reckoning to the ones
who have denounced the True Path.

The sky burst open and a hellish green-black disk whirled into being over the Barrens. A floating obelisk descended from the burnt clouds into view, fel fire twisted through its mechanical veins as destruction rained over the dry grasslands. Where the bolts hit, the ground burned and green glow shone on the hills and trees.

Evolving, growing, expanding, hungering always hungering. The three fingered limb pushed against the darkness, feeling the buckling barrier before it's grasp. It yearned freedom, yearned release and pushed harder before feeling a slight weight against it. It knew this feeling, remembered it from being only many hours old. As it pushed against this weight an alluring voice breached the darkness calling towards it, seeking it's loyalty and calmness as it began feeling it's strength sapped. It's resistance and need for freedom slowly became the need for rest. Still the voice continued against it filling the void with their sound;

After a long journey underground, and the unavoidable death of many a cultist, it is done. I grasp in my hands the product of congealed essence drained from a black dragon matron, and gemstones of the darkest depths which devour all surrounding light.

Snow-white hair fell back as the Drakkari tilted his head skyward. The Dark void of his gaze staring up at the bloodshed of Twilight and Dragonflight alike. A grin creeping over the troll's features. War bore an odd feeling upon all of it's participants. Exhilaration, Excitement, Fear, Death.

"Benedictus has fallen!" "Secure the Temple!" "The Hour of Twilight is upon us!"

Lurching forward, Kama'zlek let out a gutteral purr. The taste of blood on the crisp air was desireable, his being hungered. Metallic fingers reached back, coiling about the hilt of his scythe. The black gaze fell upon the plated female next to him, an ear twitching in response as the emeralds returned it. "Deat' calls fa dese imbeciles.. who would die for a meaningless dragon.. da Hour of Twilight is upon us, my vindicator.. Let us go and show dem da true meaning of dis Hour.. da Hour of da Forgotten.."

He could not move, he could not breath. Each twitch of muscle was complete agony. His black, toxic blood oozed from his cut, split, rent, torn, and charred flesh. The Whisperer and Scribe had stabilized him with shadow, but his body was failing. With each passing hour he grew weaker, less stable. Flame and the occasional spark would fall from his body, his great power leaking.

I am going to die...

I cannot die... I am the Sovereign... Lord of the Forgotten... I am eternal.

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